


With Child

by ZoeSong



Series: Always a Stark [12]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childbirth, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fatherhood, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Motherhood, Parenthood, Past Violence, Sisters, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15935306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeSong/pseuds/ZoeSong
Summary: While Sansa nurtures tender thoughts of having a child, Sandor worries.





	With Child

**Author's Note:**

> Meant to be a sequel to "[Change](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12461991)" and "[Sister to Sister](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13297761)"
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful Swimmingfox for her editorial suggestions and encouragement.

~~

It was early evening when Sandor and his men arrived back at Winterfell. The sun was just about down and he longed for his supper, a mug of wine, and Sansa. Perhaps not in that order.

He was surprised to find her waiting for him in the courtyard when he arrived. Usually she was in their solar, with supper and mulled wine waiting.

“My love, it’s good to have you back. It’s been a long day waiting for you.” Sansa tilted her face up to him awaiting his kiss, which he gladly gave.

“But no longer than usual. Has something happened?” 

She smiled mysteriously. “Will you walk with me?”

The last thing he wanted to do after many long hours in the saddle was to walk the grounds, but she clearly had something important to tell him, so he handed the horse off to the stable boy and followed her into the godswood. 

When they’d reached the large stone where they were fond of sitting together by the pond, she sat down gracefully, and turned her shining face to him. “Sandor, I have such good news.”

“Oh, aye?” He joined her on the bench, wondering what news would require this special walk.

She nodded, her eyes bright. “I’m with child.” She beamed.

_Ah, of course_. For a long time after they’d wed, she had spoken of this, hoped for it, but it had not come to pass over many months, so she’d stopped speaking of it. And he’d stopped worrying about it. Until now. 

“Sandor, you aren’t saying anything — are you not pleased?”

He remembered himself. “Aye, of course.” He kissed her on the forehead. 

Her face grew serious as he pulled away. “You do not seem very pleased. Is something wrong?”

He hesitated to say what really troubled him about the idea of them having children. “No, I’m glad — glad for you because you’ve wanted this so much. But....” He hesitated.

“Oh! You are afraid for me! Oh, Sandor, you needn’t worry.”

He released a breath — he was worried enough about that without burdening her with what troubled him more still. “Aye, well, you know my mother died birthing my sister.”

“I know, and that is so very sad.” She laid her hand on his, caressing it gently. “But, Sandor, my mother birthed five babies and no doubt would have had more. And she always said my hips were made to do well with childbearing. The maester has said the same — and he will take good care of me.”

Sandor nodded. “I know he will. I’ll try not to worry.” And he kissed her again and pulled her close. “When is it likely to be?”

Sansa brightened at the opportunity to talk about this event that she so looked forward to. “After harvest. It will be a perfect time as things settle down.”

Sandor agreed and listened patiently as Sansa chattered on about her hopes and plans for the baby. She seemed to know just what to do about everything, so his own doubts started to dull. 

Or perhaps it was hunger. He shifted on the bench. “So then, we have a bit of time before the child comes. What say you to talking more over supper?”

“Oh, of course! I’m sorry, my love. I have been waiting all day to tell you, I’ve completely forgotten my courtesies!”

“I think it can be forgiven just this once, little bird.” He tightened his arm around her and kissed the top of her head before rising and offering her his arm. 

~~

Many months had passed since Sansa’s big announcement. She spent a great deal of time making plans and having things prepared for a new child around the keep. A cradle appeared in the solar, then a small chest to store the baby’s things. And Sansa herself worked to fill it, sewing little things for the child to wear. 

Sandor was content to watch as Sansa planned. He carried whatever orders she’d requested to the appropriate crafts people around Winterfell.

One day he was exercising in the training yard when a servant came rushing up calling for him. 

“Ser,” he cried breathlessly. “The maester has sent for you. Lady Sansa is not well.”

Sandor tossed the wooden practice sword to the master of arms, gave the man a nod, and turned to stalk hurriedly to the keep.

“What is wrong — what did the maester say?”

“I don’t know, ser, it was Sarra who sent me to find you. She seemed quite worried but didn’t say.”

“Right, then, go about your business and I’ll go up.”

Sandor hurried up the stairs to Sansa’s solar and heard women’s cajoling voices. Then he heard Sansa’s voice, strained and troubled, warning them off. He entered the room, coming round a privacy screen, and saw Sansa in the bath, one arm and hand clutching her swollen belly over the bathing chemise she wore, and the other hand raised towards the girls who were tending her. The maester was standing aside, clearly wishing he could help, but leaving it to the women.

“Come, my lady, surely you wish us to help you get dried and dressed.”

“Stay away! You’ll not hurt the child.”

“Of course not, my lady. We wouldn’t dream of it.”

The maester saw Sandor come in and sidled up to him. “She is distressed — some recollection from before. A bad spell. She won’t let them — or me — near her; said they did something that made the child afraid — it moved oddly, she said. She seems to be afraid of me as well. I thought it best to send for you.”

Sandor nodded. He’d dealt with Sansa having bad spells, as she called them, before. But so had the maester — and that was before Sandor had come to Winterfell years ago. This seemed to be different. 

He walked slowly to the side of the tub. “Little bird, what is wrong?”

Sansa turned to him, and her eyes were wild. “They want to hurt the child. Something is wrong with it. I know it — it moved in agony. _He_ wants to hurt it.”

Sandor thought she meant the maester, but one of the girls whispered to him, “She saw the marks on her belly and grew troubled — she said that Lord Bolton had harmed the child already and we would finish his work.”

Now Sandor noticed that the scars on Sansa’s belly showed through her wet chemise. He thought, as he’d done many a time, of what terror she must have suffered at Ramsay Bolton’s hands. And now it haunted her and infuriated him yet again.

But he tamed his fury and said calmly, “Come, little bird, these girls won’t hurt you or the child. They have helped you with your bath many a time.”

Sansa looked at him warily, shaking her head. “No — Myranda is his...his....” 

She wouldn’t say it now, but Sandor knew from when Sansa had told him long ago, tearfully, of all the evil things that had passed here, including what had happened to Ramsay’s whore. “But this isn’t Myranda, love. This is Sarra, who you brought yourself from Winter Town. You said her grandmother had served here before the war.”

Sansa turned her head to study Sarra, but did not seem convinced. 

“And that is Brise. She is the armorer’s daughter.”

Sansa calmed a bit. “But the maester — he was here when....”

“Aye, so he was. And you have always said that you trusted him with your life, for he helped you when you were a prisoner here. You said he brought you moon tea. Remember?”

Finally Sansa relaxed a little. Hearing Sandor’s reassuring voice seemed to calm her somewhat. Her eyes cleared and she seemed to know Sandor. 

“Come, love, let’s get you out of the bath before you take a chill.” He motioned for the girls to come forward with the linens that they stood ready with. “Put some on the bed,” he instructed. One of the girls hurried to comply.

Sandor lifted Sansa to her feet and helped her out onto the waiting drip mat. Then he wrapped her in linens and picked her up bodily and carried her to the bed, where he sat her down and covered her with more of the linens. Then he just held her tightly. Resting her cheek against his chest, she clung to him for some time. 

Finally, she raised her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I thought he was here again — that he would cut the child out of me.”

Sandor suppressed a shudder. “No, he’s gone forever. You’re safe here with me — and the maester and the girls.”

Sansa nodded slowly.

“Now let the girls get you into some dry clothes and let the maester examine you. No doubt he’ll tell you that the child is fine.” Sandor glanced at Maester Wolkan, and the man nodded.

Sansa looked up at Sandor, then down at his tunic. “I’ve gotten you all wet! You must change too.”

“Aye, but no matter.” He beckoned to the girls.

The girls approached and Sansa seemed to be fine with them. Sandor and the maester stepped away while they cared for her, and Sandor heard Sansa apologizing to them. He was pleased to hear Sarra reassuring his wife that there was no harm done. He went to change his tunic.

When he’d returned, Sansa was dressed in a dry chemise and dressing gown, and was tucked up into bed. The maester saw to her, while Sandor had a word with the girls.

“Sarra, you said it started with her seeing the scars?”

The girl nodded.

“Well, doesn’t she have a darker chemise? See that she bathes in that next time.”

“Aye, ser, she does. And we’ll see that another is made.”

“Good.” He was relieved; these girls knew their lady well and seemed to be accepting of Sansa’s situation. 

The maester finished and was patting Sansa’s hand gently. “My lady, all is well with the child from what I can tell. No doubt that it is moving into position for birth and that is what strange movement you felt. A few weeks more and you’ll have a fine strong baby.”

“Thank you, maester, and once again, I’m so sorry.”

“Do not worry yourself, Lady Sansa. Now do rest a while and no doubt you’ll feel your old self very soon. Send for me if you need anything, as always.” He smiled at her and patted her hand once more.

Sandor came over and sat by Sansa for a moment, seeing that she was getting sleepy. The maester must have given her a bit of dream wine, for she was very groggy. She smiled drowsily at Sandor, whispered, “Thank you, my love,” as he kissed her forehead. 

He noted that one of the girls was sitting in the chair near the bed watching over Sansa, gave her a nod, and left the room in search of the maester.

Outside, it seemed that the maester had sensed that Sandor would want to speak to him.

“Ser, I wanted to reassure you that she seems quite fine. Other women do take odd notions when they are with child, you know. She has more reason than most, sadly. But I see no reason why she and the child shouldn’t be fine. Those wounds were only skin deep, and I treated them as soon as I could each time. If they had been deeper, she might not have been able to get with child. But as it is, the child should come just fine.”

“Good. I’m glad you think so.” The maester started to go, but Sandor stopped him. “Maester, just one more thing.”

“Of course, ser.”

Sandor hesitated. He had longed to ask this for some time, yet hated to share his secret. But this maester had been good to Sansa and trustworthy. He cleared his throat. “What causes a man to be a monster?”

The maester raised his eyebrows at the question, but answered matter-of-factly. “Some say that it is because he was conceived of a rape. That the sins of the father are visited unto the child. But that does not seem precisely correct as there are sadly many children conceived of rape and most of them are not madmen.”

Sandor nodded. Knowing how many men raped women during a battle, he couldn’t imagine that all the children produced in such situations would be mad.

“It is most certainly commonly caused by incest. The Targaryens have shown such patterns of madness that it was of great concern to the Citadel.”

“Aye, and Joffrey Baratheon was well mad. But his sister and brother were not.”

The maester nodded, acknowledging the rumor. “Well, we do not know why it affects some and not others. And of course some say it is caused by some trauma to the mother when she is with child. Or terrible treatment when one is a child.”

“But it is not…carried in the blood?”

“Aye, that may be as well. But ser, as I have said, Ramsay could not have affected her. That would only be if he’d sired a child with her.”

Sandor forced himself to control how his stomach turned at the thought of what might have been if she’d had to bear Ramsay a child. “It’s not Bolton I’m concerned with.” He hesitated once more, but finally drew himself up and went on. “Only Sansa knows how I got these,” he said, indicating his scars.

“Oh, ser, you can count on my keeping your confidence.”

Sandor nodded. “Aye, I know. And thank you.” He sighed heavily. “My brother did this — and it was no accident.” 

“I’m sorry, ser, that’s terrible.”

“Aye, it was. It wasn’t the last terrible thing he did. There were few who could stop him. And there was no madness in our family that I know of, nor were the other causes there.”

The maester shook his head. “I can’t explain it, ser. But there are times when–”

“But is it in the blood? Could it not be in _my_ blood? Can I have passed it along to this child? That I should beget a monster on that girl....”

“Ah, ser, I see now what worries you.”

“After all she’s been through, she shouldn’t have to endure that.”

“No, of course not. But you, ser, are no monster — strong and fierce as a warrior, but rational, controlled. And the child will be half Stark. Stark blood is just as it sounds, strong. No history of any sort of madness at all. There’s every likelihood that the child will be as sane and rational as you and Lady Sansa.”

Sandor at last breathed more easily. “I’m glad you think so. Thank you.”

“Of course, ser. If there is anything else, just send for me.”

“Aye, there is. Send for her sister. It’s early, but I think it would be well if she were here.”

“As you say, ser. No doubt you are right.”

~~

It had been nearly two weeks since Sansa’s spell, and she’d had no such fears or misgivings since. She was feeling happy and well, and had been fully involved in supervising the storing of the harvest and the festivities that had just passed. 

She was lingering in the garden at sunset, enjoying the burnished leaves flickering in the dying light. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Sansa looked up from her garden seat to see Arya striding towards her, her sword at her side as always. “Arya! How good to see you!”

The women embraced. Sansa was always warmed by how sincerely Arya seemed to care for her after all their childhood spats.

“You’re here early. The birth won’t be for another couple of weeks.”

“I came down to do a bit of hunting. Thought I’d stop in.” Arya gave her a serious look. “How are you? You’re out here late.”

“I’m trying to enjoy being outside while I can. Soon I’ll be busy with the baby and perhaps not get out so much. And it will be growing cold.”

Arya nodded. “True enough. But you have servants to see to the child. You’re the lady of Winterfell — you can do as you like.”

Her sister just nodded vaguely and glanced back at the splendid sunset. 

“Come on, let’s go in. I’m starving.” Arya stamped impatiently.

“Just a few more minutes.”

Together the sisters watched the sun set over the trees. Then Sansa sighed.

Arya watched her sister with growing concern. “Are you afraid?”

Sansa turned and stared at Arya for a moment. “Of the birth? No.”

“Well, they say it hurts — I remember Mother’s cries when she bore Rickon.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of that. I know what real pain is. This will be pain with a joyous purpose.”

Arya considered. “But you could...die.”

Sansa nodded. “True, but I’m not afraid of death either — there was a time when I wished for it. It would have been a mercy. But....” 

“But now you want to live.”

“Yes. I know it’s possible that I will not. But you will still–”

“I will. You know Lyanna and I will look out for the child.”

“Good. Then there’s only one more thing I must ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Sandor. I worry for him. I like to think that I’ve made him happy. I should so hate for him to fall into despair if I should die. Will you please look out for him too? Especially if the child and I both should die. Remind him that I would not wish for him to despair. That I’d want him to find happiness again.”

Arya looked at her sister skeptically. “Don’t you think that _you_ should tell him that?”

“I have. And I will again before it’s time. But if the worst should happen, then will you promise to be a true good-sister to him? For my sake?”

Sansa’s pleading eyes troubled Arya. Were there still dark things in store for their family? But Arya could give no other answer but what her sister sought. “Of course I will. He won’t thank me for it, but I will.”

“I thank you, Arya. And really, I’m not that worried — I feel after all that has happened to us, this has to be a happy time. Do we not deserve this?”

Arya nodded, but had little faith in whatever powers might be guiding their lives. Yet she smiled and said, “Of course we do. And we deserve supper too. Come on, or your old Hound will be growling at us both.”

Sansa laughed. “Help me up then, and I’ll waddle as fast as I can to get there.”

~~

It was nearly three weeks later when Sansa’s pains finally came, on a cold, wet day, with the wild wind blowing in the trees. Sansa had been sewing in her solar, Arya beside her reading aloud one of the old adventures they had loved as children. 

Arya would have sent for Sandor at once, but Sansa stopped her. “He already worries for me so much. Why trouble him now when he has things to busy him? Let him be away about the grounds all day — he will find out soon enough when he comes in for supper.”

So a select few members of the household quietly went about helping Sansa prepare to give birth.

The pains were strong, but Sansa was stronger. Arya beheld her groaning through the spasms and admired the strength in her sister’s will. Arya didn’t fear pain, but she’d never experienced anything like this, and never would if she had her way.

But the pains went on for many hours, and Arya could see that Sansa was growing weary. Her face was pale, her hands grasping at anything to grip during the worst of it. The midwife and maester did what they could, reminding her to breathe through the pains. 

Finally the time came for Sansa to push. The midwife got her into a comfortable position for it, and together with the maester and Arya urging her on.

After what seemed an eternity, the maester said, “Just one more push, my lady,” and Sansa made an enormous effort, and the child slid out into the waiting arms of the midwife.

She and the maester tended the child, and it gave a great coughing cry, and then was mewling like Sansa had heard so many babies crying before. 

“Oh, what is it? Do let me see!” 

“They are just cleaning him up, Sansa.”

“Him? It’s a boy then?”

Arya took Sansa’s hand and squeezed it. “Yes, your little Ned.”

Tears sprang to Sansa’s eyes. 

At last the babe was washed and swaddled and brought to Sansa. He had a shock of dark hair and gray eyes, though it was hard to see them as he screwed them shut almost the moment he was in her arms. She cradled him to her as if she’d always been a mother instead of for just a few minutes. 

“He’s so tiny and perfect! Oh, Arya, what a joy it is to hold him at last!” 

“Strange that he’s so tiny when you were so big. Still are.” Arya glanced at Sansa’s belly, which was smaller, but not flat as she’d expected.

The maester came closer. “The afterbirth should be coming soon.” He laid his hand on Sansa’s belly. “But there is still a firm mound here. My lady, do give the child to your sister and let me examine you.”

Sansa reluctantly gave up the child, and Arya almost as reluctantly took it from her. But it didn’t break in her arms, rather it cuddled up to her as if she were its mother. 

Meanwhile, the maester checked over Sansa and exclaimed, “There is a second baby! You are having twins, my lady! How I could have missed the signs....” He said no more but went about getting things ready for another birth. He had been very worried that Sansa would not survive the birth of such a large child. But now it was clear that there were two small babies instead.

“Twins? Oh, Maester. ‘Tis such good news.” 

Arya looked at her sister with renewed admiration. She’d just gone through a long, painful process to produce one baby. But she was as avid about the second as if she’d not just birthed the first.

And so, not a half hour after the first baby came, another was born. Sansa was exhausted, but elated as the midwife laid another little boy in her arms. This one had red hair and gray-blue eyes.

“Two boys! Such a wealth of children to start our family!” Sansa sighed in happiness. 

“What will you name the second one? Benjen?”

Sansa looked thoughtfully from one tiny face to the other. “No indeed. They must be named ‘Robb’ and ‘Jon.’”

Arya nodded. It was perfect.

“Oh, where is Sandor? He must see his sons.”

“I’ll go and fetch him.”

“Arya — don’t tell him that there are two. Let it be a surprise.”

Arya grinned at her sister. “I won’t tell him a thing.”

Sandor wasn’t hard to find. He’d discovered earlier in the day that Sansa was in labor, but had gratefully stayed away when the housekeeper had told him that the maester and Arya had it well in hand. Sandor had “supervised” nearly every venue he could around Winterfell until the retainers and small folk had begun to think they were grossly unfit. Now he was back at the woodpile chopping wood that might keep the fires in Winterfell burning the entire winter.

“You’ll bury yourself in wood if you keep on.”

“Wolf girl.” He looked up and wiped his face of wood dust. “What news? Is it over?” He tried to hide his worry, but Arya was not fooled.

“Yes. She’s asking for you.”

“She’s all right? And the child?”

“They’re fine. She’s elated. Come on, she’s waiting for you.”

They started towards the house. Sandor looked over at Arya. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“She wants to tell you herself.”

Sandor shook his head. “It’s not like it makes a difference to me. Boy or girl, just so she’s happy.”

“Oh, she’s happy, no worries there.”

Finally they reached the bedchamber. Arya slipped in ahead of Sandor. She wasn’t going to miss the look on his face when he saw the babies.

She wasn’t disappointed. 

Sansa was propped against some pillows in the bed with a baby in the crook of each arm. She beamed at Sandor. 

Sandor stopped cold, staring. “Two? Twins?”

Sansa giggled and nodded. “Aren’t they lovely? And look, one has your hair, and one has mine.”

He came closer, taking in all three of them. “Aye, so they have. I thought twins were supposed to look alike?”

“The maester says that they are more often not alike than alike.” 

Sandor just stared at them as if still in shock that there were two.

“I want to name them ‘Robb’ and ‘Jon’ for my brothers.”

“I thought you wanted to use your father’s name.”

“I will leave that to Jon for his first boy. Since Robb and Jon were of an age, and so close, I think it is fitting. It honors their friendship, which is what I want for our boys.”

Sandor nodded, glancing again at the two tiny heads. “I don’t suppose I need to ask which will be which.”

“Of course not! This one will be Jon, and this will be Robb.” She kissed each baby on the forehead, starting with the dark-haired one, then the red-headed one. “Do you mind?”

Sandor shook his head. “Of course not. You name them whatever you like. So long as it’s not ‘Florian’ and ‘Jonquil.’”

Sansa giggled. “I outgrew that long ago.”

“And will the king like having a child named for him?”

“Oh, Sandor, this is his nephew. Of course he will like it! And I doubt that he will be the first ‘Jon’ in the kingdom named for my brother. Nor will he be the last.”

“Aye, well, I suppose not.”

“Don’t you want to hold them?”

Sandor looked nervously at the small bundles. “I might hurt them.”

“No you won’t. Arya will help you.”

Sandor looked at Arya doubtfully. “This one? Because she’s so skilled with babies?”

Arya didn’t feel all that certain herself, but wasn’t about to let on that she might not be able to handle two tiny helpless men. She took charge. “Go on, sit in the big chair and I’ll bring them to you.” First she took little Jon from Sansa, and placed him in the crook of Sandor’s right arm. Then she gathered up little Robb and put him in the other. Sandor sat there looking back and forth between the two, as if he couldn’t quite believe they were his. Sansa beamed at him. 

“Aren’t they sweet? They’re _your_ boys, Sandor.” Sansa gushed. 

Robb started to cry and Sandor looked nervously up at Arya. “You’d best take him.” 

Arya shook her head, amused at Sandor’s predicament. 

“Just rock your arm a bit — he’ll be fine.” Sansa’s voice was confident.

Sandor obeyed and was rewarded with a hiccup and a gurgle from Robb as he settled in to sleep in his father’s arms.

Arya watched them for a bit, then looked to Sansa, who was gazing on them contentedly. “I’ll go and tell Bran the news.”

“Oh, yes, do! And will you ask the maester to send Jon and Dany a raven telling them the news? Say that I will write them very soon.”

“I will.”

As she left her sister and good-brother to their new little family, Arya thought, _And so the pack grows._

~~

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is wondering, fraternal twins can look as alike or different as any other siblings.
> 
> Updated 1-30-19: Seeing as how the show runners take great liberty with distances, I had never actually checked to see how long it might take Arya to travel from Bear Island to Winterfell. I got curious, so I did some searching. According to [this very helpful source,](https://winteriscoming.net/2015/11/10/game-of-thrones-fan-tabulates-distances-between-places-in-westeros/) it is 140 miles by water and 350 miles by land to get there. After consulting some sources about how many miles one can travel by day by rowing and by horse, and assuming that the Mormont rowers, Arya, and her horse, are very athletic, I settled on about two weeks. If anyone has a better estimate (and links to where better estimations can be made), please feel free to post them. I love geography, so it's neat that such sites are available.


End file.
